Reflections Dire
by Jadely
Summary: News of the Painted Lady's return spreads all the way to the Fire Nation capital, birthing festivities among the people. And who could happen to stumble into the middle of it with a keen curiosity other than the unsettled prince Zuko, who decides who decides to take up the face of the Blue Spirit one last time to meet the fabled woman himself. But who is who under the moonlight?
1. One

_**What is reflection and what is simply reflected? News of the Painted Lady's return spreads all the way to the Fire Nation capital, birthing festivities and celebration among the people. And who could happen to stumble into the middle of it with a keen curiosity other than the unsettled prince Zuko, who decides he must see the woman of lore himself. Katara and Zuko are about to realize they have a lot in common with their alter egos, for just who is who under the moon's lighting?**_

_'.'.'.'_

_And who by brave assent, who by accident,__  
Who in solitude, who in this mirror__,__  
Who by his lady's command, who by his own hand,__  
Who in mortal chains, who in power,_

_Who shall I say is calling?_

**_Who By Fire, Leonard Cohen_**

_'.'.'.'_

"I'm bored."

Slowly but surely, the fire prince felt his bottom lip curl into an irritated scowl as hot as his molten palms. "_Not this," _he thought as unpleasant memories flooded his mind. _ "I remember this._"

"And I'm hungry."

"Mhmm," he half grumbled while his hot breath flicked the red curtain encasing their carrier. Undeniably, she was becoming harder to please by the day.

The stoic girl grumbled back, at least as far as grumbling went considering the monotonous temperament she kept. Mai had never let her real feelings show, but through her ghostly mask Zuko could practically see the impatience seeping through, preparing to slowly smother him. Although he knew impatience wasn't truly considered an emotion, he knew it was the closest resemblance she would display.

"Stop one of the servants and have them buy some fire flakes," she demanded dryly, tugging at the seam of the red curtains. The fabric was just sheer enough that he could see the pained look on the servant's face upon hearing the young woman's icy voice. Any passerby would have assumed the look to be from the strain of carrying the royal palan key, but Zuko knew better.

In truth, he didn't care what the servant felt, although he knew his next steps would portray otherwise.

"Fine," he grunted as he motioned for the carriers to stop. Even if it wasn't a prince's place to walk anywhere _ever_, he had never been so willing to be treated as less than royalty if it meant getting out of that carrier.

He needed a breath away from her for a minute; her and everything else. Nothing felt right anymore, not even what he had been so familiar a mere three years ago- the palace, his father, even Mai. Everything he thought would bring him peace –or at least happiness if nothing else- was very quickly proving otherwise.

Had had expected a lot of things upon his return. As trying and scandalous as the conditions of it had been, there was still that undying anticipation which rose above his worries. He had imagined the authority of being a _welcomed_ prince would quench his perpetual drive for accomplishment. He had imagined being at home would fulfill everything he felt was lacking in his life, or at least give him some peace of mind; he had his honor back, after all.

"_But at what cost?_" asked the voice in the back of his mind which he had become very good at pushing away. He grunted to himself as he brushed past Mai.

When he looked at everything truthfully, home had changed in the three years he was away. His father didn't treat him quite the same -there was a scar to prove that- yet Zuko couldn't put a finger on what exactly was different. And something about Azula was even more off than usual. Of course, knowing their character, he should have expected such, but the only thing he had guessed correctly so far was that Mai would be there waiting as if nothing had changed; herself included. Zuko had even expected the disconcerted arch of her brow when he stepped from the palanquin into the street.

What he hadn't expected, however, was that the newest market wares would draw his agitated breath to a halt.

The Blue Spirit was everywhere; or the mask was, at least. It was donned at almost every stand selling wares along with other strange costumes that seemed to blur into a mess of black and blue. Hundreds of those empty masks stared him down all at once, knowing everything he had done under its fabled guise. The Blue Spirit was a wanted criminal because of him. Zuko almost couldn't contain his outward shock and inward panic as a thousand wooden faces looked right through him.

When a sudden voice beside him made him jump in the slightest, Zuko finally realized he was standing in a puddle, and that his hem was soaked.

"OH!" the nervous voice squawked, and suddenly something very blue blocked the prince's vision. "Y-Your majesty! I see the Blue Spirit has c-caught your eye."

Although he couldn't quite see him, there was an old shopkeeper holding a mask in Zuko's rapidly blinking eyes, clearly hoping to distract him from what was going on in the market. "Y-You wouldn't want to miss out on the latest trend now, would you? Everyone is... Ah! I mean, uh.." he stopped himself with the realization that he was blowing his own cover, then began waving the familiar mask even closer as some sort of hopeful last resort. "I mean, it would be a specialty item, just for you!"

"Enough!" the hot-headed prince spat as he slapped the mask away from his face. Although his vision was freed of the smothering mask, a thousand more surrounded him at every stand, whispering cold accusations with those dark eyebrows and malicious smiles. Zuko felt sick.

Trying not to look around nervously, the man resorted to more senseless and hopeless distractions, his wiry white hair whipping around with his words. "One for y-you and your fair lady, then? I-It would be my honor to please the prince..."

His open mouth closed at the thought of Mai wearing that over-the-top mask, deflating a little of the anxiety streaming through his blood. "Right," his heavy sarcasm cut short as he tried to step away from the carrier and shake the water from his shoes. "Because any reasonable girl would love to parade around as a criminal."

The shopkeeper placed a finger up to interject, but Zuko wasn't finished. For some reason he felt the need to cover any trace linking the Spirit to himself, even though the only two people who knew his secret were both presumed dead.

Presumed, at least.

"You _do_ know that the Blue Spirit has recently decided to take up thievery, don't you?" He took a threatening step towards the shaking merchant, sending ripples through the puddle they stood in. "There was a steep price put on his head, not to mention the wanted posters up everywhere. I don't think my father would be very happy to know you've made it ten times easier for him to sneak around. He's a dangerous... threat to... " his voice suddenly grew weak as he trailed off, unable to say the simple words.

_He is an enemy to the Fire Nation._

Tense laughter escaped the shop keeper's lips. "My lord, it is hardly our intention to cause uproar, but how could we deny our deity's honorable festivities? We all know the Blue Spirit himself is no thief, let alone a man! Someone simply used him as a disguise. You must know this better than anyone," Zuko's head snapped at him suddenly, and the old man fumbled backwards in terrified confusion before continuing, "... b-being as renowned in mythology as you are spoken to be."

The intensity in the prince's amber eyes drained after a long, silent moment. "Festivities?" Deciding it best to ignore the last comment, Zuko's worried look unravelled while the subtle traces of adrenalin bled out. "Festivities for what? I don't recall any celebrations around this time of year."

Relieved to have escaped from probable wrath and potential jail time, the merchant drew the best convincing smile he could despite his lack of teeth. "The masks are in celebration of the Painted Lady's return to our land- the spirit of compassion and healing! Surly his majesty wouldn't withhold tradition and festivities?"

"The Painted Lady?" Inwardly his interest was caught, but the only physical show he gave from his indifference was the suspicious narrowing of his eyes as he looked at the shopkeeper. "Where has she appeared?"

"Near the villages on the river in the southeast province," the old man licked a finger and stuck it up into the air with squinted eyes. After a moment, he pointed off in what he gauged to be the right way. Zuko shook his head at the man's lack of direction, but said nothing. "Yep. The factories have been infesting the waters there something fierce. Perhaps the cries of the dying people have finally caught her ears again."

_Infested villages? Dying people?_ Zuko was just parting his lips to demand why he hadn't been made aware of this when the man held up another mask in his face, one hadn't seen for a long time.

One he cherished.

Alongside the Blue Spirit was held a white, oval shaped mask. Dark lashes and elegant eyebrows were painted on with the finest care, a beautiful addition to the deep red lines hewn around her void and empty eyes. A few more red swirls twisted below her equally red lips, as if all the color had been drawn out of her face and into those vivid red lines. She looked calm and serene with her otherworldly beauty, even if she were just a mask.

Looking at the familiar face made something slow inside Zuko. The Painted Lady had been his mother's favorite myth, and so naturally, it had been his too. She had told him so many wonderful stories about the spirit as a child that the young fire prince was sure he could still recite them by heart, although he would never admit to such a thing. He remembered the tragic story as though he had heard it yesterday.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" The man grinned unabashedly, and hinted slyly to his waiting carrier. Now Zuko understood what he meant by, '_one for the lady'._

"... She is," he finally decided. But as he took the mask and turned it over in his hands, feeling along the wood's grain, something inside him didn't comply with the thought of putting that mask on Mai. It was just a mask, and he knew he had no reason to feel that way.

But he did.

She probably wouldn't want it, anyway. He was supposed to be getting fire flakes.

Zuko took note of the pale white faces in the mobile sea of deep blue and black masks. Amid the crowd of men with the blue mask, a few women donned a more elegant, pale face, the face he held in his hands. How hadn't he noticed that she was walking around everywhere until now?

He glanced back over his shoulder at the palanquin waiting for his awkward extrusion and then back at the shopkeeper, who was still hopefully holding out that blue face. Below them, the puddle was tranquil enough to mirror those two eerie, spirit faces. The fire prince stared down at them, lost in his thoughts and the Blue Spirit stared back at him from the reflection for what felt like forever.

Only the rippling of the water, caused by some stray rolling pebble, distorted the image and broke his trance.

"How much for the mask?" he asked without thinking twice about why he was paying or what he was doing.

',',',','

Red paint,

Willow veil,

Rice paddy hat,

And a half guilty conscience to top it all off properly.

Navy eyes scanned the faces of her sleeping friends for a moment with just a twinge of a smile. Aang rolled over on his simple blankets, unconsciously scratching his full head of dark hair in his peaceful sleep. Sokka's head was cranked back and he was drooling, as always. A line of it rolled down his temple into the complete head of hair he, too, donned as part of their fire nation disguises. And Toph- well, she slept like a rock when her sleep was deep enough, and by looks of the drool bubble she breathed in and out, she wasn't waking up any time soon.

Reassured by the mutual drool and heavy sleep of her friends, she slipped away from the group for the third time that week- not as Katara, but as the Painted Lady.

* * *

**Honest reviews are very appreciated!**


	2. Two

**Initially, I was going to keep this chapter more simple, but I wanted to explore what it would look like for Katara and Zuko to interact more, so I added a little today. As of now, there is only one more chapter left. Please let me know what you think, dear reader!**

_'.'.'.'_

_ And who in her lonely slip, who by barbiturate,  
Who in these realms of love, who by something blunt,  
Who by avalanche, who by powder,  
Who for his greed, who for his hunger,  
Who shall I say is calling?_

_'.'.'.'_

The midnight air swirled in her lungs as she ran. With the cover of the clouds over the moon, she nearly melted into the night.

Now was her time to act. Now was her time to do what she could not without a disguise. She knew the others wouldn't understand -especially Sokka- but she felt there was no choice. People were starving, sick and dying. How could she just walk away? How could she leave them when she had the power to help?

She couldn't.

The gentle hover of her running feet on the water did nothing to tame the wild adrenaline coursing through her veins, making her more anxious than she would admit. But the uneasiness wasn't from the rush of sneaking off into the night. It wasn't the worry that there would not be enough time or resources to help the people in the village. It wasn't the nervous fear that the gang would eventually realize Appa's tongue was purple not because he was sick, but because of the berries she had been feeding him. It wasn't even the thought of Sokka's predictable lectures if he found out what she was doing. In fact, the unease wasn't from any of the things which usually worried Katara.

No, it was the shadow following her that worried her.

He had been there since the first night of her masquerade, following her with inhumane speed and distance, never stepping from the shadows and never coming close enough to be seen. Perhaps word of the Painted Lady had caught this snooping shadow's attention, or perhaps he had seen her himself and simply followed after her. Katara didn't know, and she didn't care. All that mattered to her was that she wasn't caught, and that the figure didn't follow her back to her camp. If he was a threat, she could handle it.

With one last look over her shoulder, the shadow disappeared into the distant darkness, and everything was just as still as the murky water engulfing the town, as though nothing suspicious had ever been there. With a frustrated huff to let out some of the apprehension, she slid around the side of a house, creeping in to where she knew three sick children were sleeping.

She was in and then she was out, moving on to the next house, treasuring the warm and unaware smiles forming on the sleeping faces she touched. Eventually, it took her mind from former worries. Nothing was more satisfying to her in the world.

But after a while, it was clear that her effort wasn't enough. As she looked around, she saw the village was growing worse every night. The elderly were still coughing, the sick children were still whimpering, and families were left with less and less food. And there would be even less tomorrow night. The Painted Lady knew there was too much for her to do on her own.

But Katara was stubborn. Katara couldn't give up.

Just before sliding into the next house she reached for her hidden pack, intending to grab another bag of food, but her hands came back empty. She was out of supplies. Her hands slid down to her sides in momentary frustration when a noise from behind reintroduced the adrenalin into her blood.

"Could... you use a hand?"

Something about the voice made her head snap faster than she meant to. It was strange and strained and somehow familiar. She kept silent, simply staring at the figure, who in turn, stepped out of the shadows it had concealed itself in and stared back at her. Her brows rose a little when she saw who had been following her. Instinctively, she lowered her face so that the brim of her hat kept only her lips and chin exposed. The red paint contrasted sharply with the pale moonlight beginning to break from dark clouds' control.

The Blue Spirit seemed uncomfortable with her silence, so spoke again.

"My mother use to tell me stories about you; how you would mysteriously appear in the middle of the night to help those on the edge of death, the ones that everyone else had given up on." He stood watching her for a moment, as if he could not take her all in with once glance. She could read nothing from him other than his stance. The mask covered everything. He was not defensive, nor was he offensive. When he spoke again, his voice flickered. "About the brave and selfless thing you've done..."

Katara's eyes widened in shock, then narrowed in anger._ "That voice... It couldn't be..."_

She could have sworn he chuckled a little. "I've heard that when the Painted Lady appears, her lover chases through the night after her. Legend says he betrayed you and you vowed never to see him again, never to forgive him for what he put you through." He stepped forward. "Or even speak to him, apparently."

Katara had to reel back in shock. It _was_ Zuko.

"Wait!" he put out a hand in hopes of stopping her backwards steps. "I know I look like him, and I may even be a little like him..." he looked down and sighed. "But I'm not. I use the Blue Spirit as my disguise. I'm not here to hurt you. I want to help."

"_You're WORSE than him," _she fumed inwardly, a new flood of anger tearing through her blood. When she closed her eyes, all she could think about was the moment he had turned on them. They had nearly lost Aang; lost everything. Seeing him standing there, it took everything not to tear him apart, but Katara had learnt a lot about self-control over the past months. Now was not the time to blow her cover. Head tilted down, she turned and began running.

"Hey, wait!" the Blue Spirit -or more so, Zuko- ran after her, keeping as quiet as he could so as not to wake any villagers. "Please! If you don't believe me, I'll... I'll show you."

His bold statement earned the desired effect, for she stopped running, but her back remained to him until a hollow _thud_ sounded between them. She turned just enough to see the blue mask lying on the wooden boards, wobbling back and forth.

Zuko stood, his pale skin white as the full orbiting sphere above them, that red, irate scar as contrasting as ever. "I know you probably have no idea who I am..." she tried not to scoff at the irony of his calm voice. "And its best that way. You wouldn't like me very much if you were to know what I've done."

Images of the crystal prison played through her mind. Beneath the brim of her hat, she noted his long, dark brown hair and his simple black outfit, then the Dao swords strapped to his back. He looked different now. He stood with his usual air of determination, but he didn't look like royalty. He didn't look like a once banished prince. He didn't look like someone who had betrayed her, someone she had been vulnerable to and trusted.

But he was.

Why had she even trusted him? Because he had done the same by opening up to her? Or did he just put on a convincing act, like now?

"These people need help," he began again on an even more serious note. "I think it's time for me to do some good for a change. I have supplies. I know it's not much, but you do seem to be running a little low..."

The Painted Lady stopped, and Katara kept her snarl lower than her raging emotions. When she finally decided to speak, her voice was heavily masked and sour. What were the chances he would recognize her voice, anyway? They had only spoken a few fateful times.

"This way." As much as every part of her wanted to slice him into two pieces, she knew he was right. Even if this was just another elaborate act, he had something she needed; something the people needed. Katara could only pray that this would go quickly.

Zuko let out a relaxed sigh and bent down to pick up his mask before following after her. "Is it really as bad as I've heard? The village?"

Having no desire to speak to him, she simply pointed to the house they were passing by. He stopped to look in through the window at the rows of sick and scrawny children and bit his lip. Those were _his_ people starving.

"It's the factory." He looked at her. "Isn't it?"

From under the brim of her hat, she glared at him. He fixed her with a look she had never seen before; not from him or anyone else. It unnerved her. She pointed for him to open the bag.

"I don't have much for food. It's mostly medical supplies." He looked over at her and she motioned for him to leave the medicine under the window.

When he had placed the medicine and turned around again, she was already down the boardwalk with his bag slung over her shoulder, weaving in and out of houses. He ran up to her and walked along side her in silence, stealing glances and waiting outside doors.

"How long has the factory been here?" he asked when she finally walked in a straight line for more than ten seconds. He waited for her to say something, anything. But she said nothing. His fingers tapped nervously along his hip as they walked, trying to keep a rising feeling of guilt from consuming him.

A long moment of silence passed before she finally stopped in front of a house. Placing her palm out to motion for him to wait, she disappeared into the darkness inside the house. Beginning to feel useless, Zuko paced back and forth, listening to the water lap against the boards beneath him. He knew that water was anything but clean, having rowed himself across it to get to the village after his day long journey.

Surly his father knew about the factory. But did he know what effect it was having to the people in the fishing village? Would he care?

Zuko had told his father that morning he simply wanted to see his own country again, and would be gone for a few days travelling. Not that he would care, anyway. Zuko rarely saw his father as it was. He had considered not even telling him, but he knew that would look terribly suspicious with the fragile ground he stood on in the palace. The only difficult part of any of this so far had been sneaking off without Azula or Mai asking a thousand questions and then losing the spy Azula had sent to follow him.

But seeing the suffering in the village was a difficulty of its own. He had no idea something so terrible could happen in his own nation. They lived in luxury and surplus, so why was this place treated differently? They were fire nation citizens, too.

A sudden blue radiance from inside the house lit up the area around him. Awed, he crept back to the doorway and peered in, expecting to see the spirit in the surge of her own magic, like he had imagined as a child. Did she touch them? Or did she simply have to look their way? But the Painted Lady was nowhere to be seen. Confused, he turned back around and nearly walked into her- her hat, at least.

"O-Oh," he stumbled back. "Sorry. I thought-"

She brushed past him, head down, one glowing hand holding the sack over her shoulder. She seemed fixed on another destination.

"_And I thought I was quiet,"_ Zuko grumbled to himself as he ran to catch up with her. He walked behind her this time, trying to discreetly take her in. She was slender and small- much smaller than he would have expected. He had been told she was giant, exceedingly beautiful and unsurpassably kind. But what did he know about the spirits, anyway? Tons of stories and little of truth, it seemed. Where was the wondrous woman of legend he had grown up hearing of? Sure, she was protecting the village, but she seemed more cold and calculated than kind and loving. He hadn't even seen her face and had hardly heard her voice.

Was it because he represented her lost love? Or was it because she knew about everything he had done? Did she know his thoughts?

"The factory," he began again, trying to push the thought from his mind. "How long has it been here?"

She didn't know the answer, which made it twice as easy to keep silent. Why did he care, anyway? She slipped some herbs from the bag into an elderly couple's house without missing three steps.

"How many people live here?" he tried again. No answer.

She turned into another house, completely ignoring him. Pale blue light filled the room and she stepped out shortly after it faded.

But Zuko's eagerness hadn't even begun to wear out. "I'm not like you; I'm not an all-powerful spirit."

She couldn't help but laugh at that. Neither was she, and here was the prince of the fire nation, complaining there was nothing he could do. Or was this just part of his act, too?

"What can I do to help these people? I feel responsible for all of this, like I should be able to stop it."

Stopping her forward trek, she pointed towards the factory spitting smoke in the distance. Stepping beside her, Zuko's gaze moved from her to where she gestured.

"The factory?" he looked at her indifferently. "What am I supposed to do, blow it up? I can't do that."

Her eyes lit up at the thought, but she remained silent.

"_If this isn't already taking enough of a chance, I can't imagine what destroying that factory would be,"_ Zuko thought disconsolately, although he knew very well he could do it if he really wanted. Risks had never stopped him before. But what would his father do?

He knew the answer to that.

Rubbing his temples, he watched her arm slowly returned to her side. He couldn't help but stare at her, wishing she would look at him or say something. He had dreamt about her as a child, relished every story ever told of her. He had wished his whole life for the chance to see her, to know that she _was _real and that his mother hadn't been spinning stories.

Were those stories real?

"Why won't you talk to me?" he finally asked, the question rolling awkwardly from his lips.

She moved to walk past him again, but a firm, cold hand on her shoulder stopped her. He was touching her.

"Do you know who I am? Is that why?"

His hand became very hot suddenly. Whether it was just her mind playing tricks on her, she didn't know. All she knew was that his touch was unbearable, raising a new level of anger within her.

"_You've betrayed me before. What reason do I have to trust you now?" _The words caught Zuko a little, but not the Blue Spirit. And not Katara. She meant them, even if it felt like it was the Painted Lady speaking.

She could tell he wrestled with what to say next, and she almost walked away in the momentary silence. His hand released her shoulder, moving back to the blue, grinning mask concealing his face. It came off slowly this time.

"Whatever happened... whatever he did..." He took a breath, unsure of what exactly he was getting himself into. The spirits had always been a mystery to him, no matter how much he studied or dreamt of them. "He's sorry. And... uhh... he didn't mean to. To hurt you."

His words were half-hearted. Pathetic. All of this was pathetic! She wasn't the real woman of legend; he wasn't the real spirit of lore. Even if he was ignorant of who she really was and that everything he was saying was closer to home then he could ever imagine, she couldn't allow anger to get the best of her. Her fists clenched tightly around the bag.

Maybe he did know? Maybe he was trying to sway her again so he could get rid of her like he thought he had done with Aang. It didn't matter. He had lost her trust in Ba Sing Sai. He had back-stabbed all of them, and no matter what he said now, Katara didn't want to waste her time squinting to see some good in the enemy only to put everyone in danger. Especially if he had any hunch the Avatar was alive.

The mask hung at his side now, and the woman beside him seemed to be fixed on it. Zuko could sense the turmoil the mysterious spirit was going through, ignorant of how personal the situation was and that the fixation was more of a lethal glare than anything. His voice was surprisingly soft when it broke the night again.

"Your anger towards him is probably beyond justified, but these people are more important now. They need help." Not quite sure what else to do, he held out his hand, extending it for her to take. She didn't. She wouldn't.

He felt stupid. "I'm not_ him_. Let me help."

The Painted Lady helped people. Katara helped people. And now, _apparently_ Zuko wanted to "help" people. She scoffed. No. This... this wasn't right.

Zuko's patience was wearing thin, although he supposed he should have a little more for spirit beings just in case they turned out to be more powerful than he expected. But as he stepped forward a little more, and railed his patience just a touch further, something he hadn't expected happened.

"Gahh!" he gasped as his legs were suddenly encased in ice and he was immovably frozen up to the waist. Frozen. Wide eyes glanced up in shock. "What-?"


	3. Three

_And who by fire, who by water,  
Who in the sunshine, who in the night-time,  
Who by high ordeal, who by common trial,  
Who in your merry, merry month of May,  
Who by very slow decay,_

_Who shall I say is calling?_

'.'.'.'.'

The Painted Lady was suddenly very close to him, still and silent as the water all around them. For a moment, Zuko was completely caught off guard, speechless and despite himself, afraid. Could the Painted Lady truly be so mad?

Through the fiber of her hat, she could feel Zuko's hot and confused breath; an unusual sensation for her cold blood. The moonlight gave her enough light to study the fear on his face, a rare expression for the fire prince to bear outwardly. Steam was rolling off the large chunk of ice encasing half of his body.

"I... you..." he sputtered unintentionally, not quite finding his voice yet. His heart beat faster than a drum.

When his eyes began to soften and his breath grew quicker, she realized she was lingering. Biting her lip and swallowing her own pounding heart, she snatched the bag from the boards. It almost looked as though she were floating when she turned to leave.

Finally, Zuko snapped out of it. "H-Hey!" his voice cracked.

Upon getting over the shock of being frozen, all he wished for was the ability to kick himself for what must be his hundredth failed attempt at doing the 'right thing'. He had come all this way for nothing, all because he thought the spirits would have favor on his intentions. And now he was stuck. Frozen.

_Who knew she could even do that?_

"Come on!" he groaned, his fists making contact with the dirty ice imprisoning him. "I thought you were a compassionate and kind spirit!"

She was back at him again so fast that he almost had to bend backwards to avoid her. Although he couldn't see her face, he could sense the anger seeping from her and hear it seeping from her low, dark voice.

"I am such to those who _deserve_ kindness."

Zuko's eyes widened as a lock of stray hair trussed along his cheek, like a wave rolling along the coast. Didn't he know that scent from somewhere? From someone? It was... like the ocean. A strange feeling rose in his stomach as she snatched the strand back and tucked it behind her ear. At least that's what he imagined she did. He had seen nothing of her above the neck due to the large hat she donned. That hat...

Both curious and suspicious, his hands moved towards her.

But she was gone.

She was gone, tossing the bag of medicine into an open window, flying across the surface of the water and back up the hills with anger ripping at her soul and wind ripping at her hair. She ran and ran and ran, but she didn't run back to the camp; no, she went the opposite direction.

Racing through the trees, her mind went as fast as her feet. Who did he think he was? A hero? A good prince, coming to 'help' his people. _Right._ No, he was a liar and a thief and a traitor. And he was good at what he did, she told herself. There was no reason to trust him.

Finally, panting and near tears from the inept anger and adrenalin, she collapsed under a tree, bitterly resenting the young fire prince more than ever. Who did he think he was fooling? He must be there because word of the Avatar had somehow gotten to the palace.

The thought sent a jolt of panic through her as she looked across the lake to where she knew the group was sleeping. Yet... there was no way Zuko could know Aang was alive, could he? He hadn't attacked her. And he hadn't said anything about the Avatar, which was _really_ something coming from him. But still...

A shadow cast over her, startling her out of her thoughts and into the tree she was slumped under rather clumsily. She looked up and the blood flushed from her face.

It was him, that blue mask looking down at her mockingly. Silently. Knowingly.

"_Leave!_" she demanded furiously, unafraid of how loud her own voice was. Not even thinking of how he managed to catch up with her so quickly, Katara let loose a fierce cry and jumped forwards. As much as she never wanted to see his face again, she knew he had seen hers; it was too late to run. Aang was in danger if she let him go now. Her water whip lashed out at his legs, intending to knock him down to her feet.

But the whip never made contact with flesh.

Her eyes widened. "Z-Zuko?" she breathed. Finally looking closely at the figure, the terrible realization that he was transparent brought her heart to a terrifying stillness.

This was not Zuko.

The mask was the same, but the clothes were not. Long, dark blue robes hung over the ghost-like body before her, the fabric moving lightly at the wisps of a wind she did not feel. Jet black hair tucked out from behind the mask, which now that she looked at it closer, was much smaller than the replica Zuko had worn. It seemed to be immovably fixed to his face, and Katara had to wonder for a moment if it _was_ his face.

The Blue Spirit didn't even seem to move, yet he was suddenly next to her with unnerving ease.

Katara breathed in sharply, expecting an attack she wasn't ready for. However, he did not attack. When his fingertips touched her cheek, they were so cold it sent chills through every fiber of her being. His fingers were long and dark, maybe even black. Looking down at them, her mind raced to find the difference, perhaps as a means to distract herself from panicking. But she couldn't think straight. His one simple touch emitted a passion and sorrow so willfully raw that she was sure she had never felt anything like it before. Was it even human? He was so close to her that if he had a breath to breathe, she would have felt it on her tear-stained cheek.

But there was no breath.

The dark, empty eye sockets looked at her longingly, and when the full moon escaped the branches of the trees, it illuminated the black, gleaming eyes behind the mask; the eyes of a spirit.

"_I'm sorry."_

His voice was humble in her ears. Katara drew a sharp breath, fear gripping her and stopping her movements.

"_Forgive me."_

She knew it was the Painted Lady he was talking to, because the Painted Lady shook her head. She could feel resentment rise up within herself overtop of the now underlying fear and shock. It was not her own emotion, and yet it was.

"_Please."_ The voice was a whisper, a whisper so torn and heartbreaking that it drew tears from Katara, which, despite her anger, she couldn't hold in. She felt the torture of this spirit, but she also felt the hurt and betrayal of the Painted Lady; a feeling she knew all too well.

The Blue Spirit cupped her cheek with one hand and continued pleading. _"Please, please, let go of what I have done. Forgive." _

Forgive.

She felt sick. The Painted Lady shook her head again.

"_No."_ The words came from her lips before she could stop them, and more spilled out the same way. _"Forgiveness is given to those who deserve it."_

For a moment, the similarities were so stark that her mind imagined those midnight eyes to be the startling gold of the fire prince's; of Zuko's, unwittingly asking for the same thing.

But they were not.

Just as she could do nothing to stop the words she had spoken, it seemed she could do nothing to stop her hands as they reached around the spirit for the strings to the mask. Those thin strands felt like lead in her hands.

The last thing Katara remembered seeing was the agonizing mar in those black eyes, for when the string was pulled and the mask hit the ground, the Blue Spirit was gone.

Raw pain and overpowering emotion spilt as the sorrow in Katara's voice mixed with the bitterness of the Painted Lady's. _"__**NO!**__"_ The air in her lungs swirled as she screamed, questioning what had just happened.

Her chest ached. Her cheek burned where his touch had been.

And she was alone, rubbing the paint from her face with sorrowful, spiteful tears, wondering why she was feeling these things that were not herself, things that were not her lifetime. The pain in her stomach was not just physical. Her heart throbbed. Her knees ached as they slumped to the ground. The rest of her body followed as she bled out the unrefined emotions in tears. Her tears.

For once, Katara could not control the flow of liquid. She could only lay there.

',',','

It was everything in restraint for Zuko to contain his fire; a lash out of it, at least. Shaking with frustration at his newest failure, he allowed the most minimum flame in his palm to melt the ice encasing the lower half of his body. He questioned if he would get himself out before the sun rose without making too much noise. That cursed mask was lying just inches away from his reach. There was no way he could hide from anyone who would poke their head out the window or happen to be out on a midnight walk.

Yet, there was another question plaguing him more.

Who was she? She couldn't be... could she? That would explain the rightful anger, although he didn't think it possible from _her_. And still, what was she doing prancing around as the Painted Lady at a time like this?

"_Well, I guess I'm in about the same metaphorical boat,"_ he realized slowly.

But _why_ was she here? _If _the Avatar was alive... he would be with them. Despite himself, the thought didn't give him the feeling it would have a month ago. For once, the thought of the Avatar being nearby didn't drive him to hunt, and it didn't make his blood rush. For some reason, it made him feel like even more of a failure. Why did everything always backfire in his face? His uncle, Mai, the Avatar, the waterbender's trust...

A small distance away, a figure caught his attention and rewired his train of thought. She was back. From a good distance away, she was staring him down through that hat again.

He was surprised for a moment, but the words seemed to suddenly flow. For some reason, he trusted that waterbender girl. He had never opened up as much as he had in those crystal prisons, with little spite and ample ease.

"I know who you are," he began slowly. "And.. I'm sorry. I know I betrayed your trust. I've betrayed my uncle's too, and anyone else who matters. I'm just so confused! I-I thought regaining my father's love would be worth it..." an invulnerable shiver passed through his frame from the chill of the ice. "... but it's _not. _It's nothing like I imagined it to be."

She was silent.

He shivered again, feeling the cold seep into his usually molten core. "_I'm sorry."_

She remained where she was, staring at him with her deep, black eyes. Then, as if she had been walking the whole time, she was right in front of him, startling him a little.

But even more startling, Zuko realized there was something _very_ different about her. The first strange thing he noted about her was that her feet had made no sound on the wood. The next was that she was translucent, clothed no longer in black but a flowing white robe. That sense of anger was still there, but when he looked into her eyes, the stark realization hit him.

This was not Katara.

Before he could say anything else, her cold and slender fingertips were thrust on the spot between his eyebrows –that is, if he had both of them- and her eyes closed tightly. His breath grew rigid. His jaw fell open as the rest of his body froze- not in ice, but at her power. Zuko had never felt the touch of a spirit before. It sent a creeping feeling through his head, as if his mind was being probed. Even if he would have been able to, he didn't try to stop her.

He could not.

Instead, he studied her face in their proximity. She was beautiful, just as all the stories had told him. Her face was white as a lotus, her lips as red as blood. Her face itself was the perfect, oval-shaped form he had always imagined. But it was pained. It was bitter. It was full of resentment and hurt. Yet when she drew her hand away from him, her expression slowly changed. She looked regretful, as though she had made some dire mistake.

Tears rolled down her cheeks.

She turned to the mask, still lying helplessly on the floor, and to his surprise, she picked it. In her hands it seemed like glass. There was a long moment of silence before she did anything else. He wondered if she would throw it into the water like he had done with his mask in Ba Sing Sei, or perhaps unleash her otherworldly powers onto it. She could do anything she wanted to that mask, and Zuko could only watch.

He did not expect her to place the mask back over his face, or to tie the strings up behind his head.

Still half-frozen, both physically and mentally, he watched her walk back the way she came. He listened for the sound of her feet, but there was no sound. She walked slowly, and Zuko found his eyes trailing to the water for her reflection, but the water was too full of mud to grace her image.

He was alone when he looked up again.

',','

When Katara finally trudged up the hill to the camp with the first traces of the morning light, she was no longer the Painted Lady. She was a very weary waterbender, physically, mentally and emotionally drained and covered in the murky water.

But she was still haunted by one word.

_Forgive._

','

_And who shall I say is calling?_

* * *

**Although this is how I originally wrote the story and I am technically considering it done, I have an idea I've been playing around with for the last week- an alternate ending, if you will. I'm going to write it out and see how I like it, but I'm not sure if I'll post it.**

**Thank you to everyone who read this through! Your reviews and feedback are always appreciated, no matter how small.**


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